Connections: Conexiones (Mercenaries Book 3) Page 20

  Beckie glanced at her. “That’s part of it, yeah. But not all, you’re right.” Amy was trying to balance the laptop on her knees. “So next week, we’ll drive to Orlando and party for a day or two, then go on to Coral Gables. Sandy won’t delay us much, so, like, Sunday week.”

  “Only two days at Disney?”

  “Yeah. You should plan our visit.” She waved at the computer. “Also, figure out where to go when you and your mom come back.”

  “Ooo! You think?”

  “I think you could give her an unexpected Christmas present. Ian would be glad to fire her for that week. Or some week if the crowds get too big.”

  “Only if he’ll take her back!”

  Beckie’s laugh was a snort. “Get to work and let me drive.”

  The closing began at nine the next morning, and by ten forty-five, with the assistance of a lawyer friend of Eilís,’ Beckie had the house keys in one hand and Amy’s fist in the other. Simmons suggested her agency also dealt in property management, and agreed to handle taxes, utility payments, security and similar functions once Beckie left.

  At the house, Beckie unlocked the back door and went in alone. Amy hunkered down in the car holding her cell phone.

  The precaution was unnecessary; Beckie waved her in.

  With her camera, Beckie recorded every piece of furniture, then she and Amy examined each one to decide if it should be saved. Beckie wanted to make her choices early, because next, they would rip everything apart, looking for anything. They’d be more careful with pieces they wanted to keep.

  The decision process took them until mid-afternoon, when Amy threw herself on the sofa in the living room and whimpered, “I’m dying of hunger…”

  Beckie laughed before admitting she too was ready to eat. Amy directed them to the Red Rooster. After finishing, Beckie turned right out of the parking lot and less than a mile north, found a mall to the right which promised a hardware store. She bought flashlights, thinking of the safes, one in the tunnel and one behind the painting that had hung over the sofa, and a few tools. The tools would allow disassembly of the cabinets and wardrobes.

  Back at the house, Amy stood for a minute at the spot on the lawn; Beckie waited until she saw the little shake of the girl’s shoulders. With an arm, she guided them both to the house.

  “Where to begin?”

  Amy brightened at the prospect of something to do. “Well, it’ll be dark soon.” She danced through the four downstairs rooms and stopped in front of Beckie. “The kitchen’s got too many hidey-holes, especially with two pantries and that huge refrigerator.”

  Beckie grinned in agreement. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Yeah, in the morning when the sun’s coming through the windows. Afternoon for the living room. Slicing open those sofas… Ugh!” She wiped her hands together. “So let’s do the dining room. I love that clock!”

  Beckie made a shooing motion toward the open archway between the kitchen and dining room. She turned toward the china cupboard.

  Beckie’d been turning cups over and rifling through stacks of Royal Doulton china, wondering if she could sell it on eBay when she heard Amy crow, “Hey, great minds think alike!”

  She carefully replaced the dishes and hurried to see what Amy thought was a treasure, but the girl was empty-handed. “What?”

  “Look there, between the movement and the back of the cabinet.”

  Beckie scrooched over in front of Amy and peered into the case. While the lower section, where the weights and pendulum hung, was glass enclosed, the sides around the movement were wood; they opened to expose the works. With a small Allen wrench, Amy pointed to the back of the chamber.

  “The plate back there isn’t flat against the case, see? And when I held the light…” She demonstrated, then handed Beckie the small LED flashlight she was using. “… I could see something stuffed between the plate and the case.”

  No need for extended examination. “It’s probably the receipt or instructions or something. Too far in to be anything we’d care about.” When she handed the light back, Amy’d wilted. “But that’s not to say we shouldn’t check it out. There were small needle-nose pliers in the stuff we bought. See if you can… Or maybe,” she said as she stuck her finger against the space, trying to judge its size, “try the tweezers in my kit, upstairs.” Amy ran toward the steps.

  Beckie went back to leafing through a stack of old instruction manuals in the bottom of the china cupboard until Amy thundered down the stairs. “Careful! No running with scissors,” she hollered.

  “Tweezers!” Amy rejoined, with a laugh. “Seriously, I’m being careful. I so don’t want to break this thing apart!”

  Beckie watched for a few seconds as the teen started to ease the tweezers into place, but went back to flipping the pages of dishwasher instructions from eight years earlier.

  She’d pitched the pamphlets back and was peering into the next space—full of aperitif glasses—when Amy said, “Yes!” As Beckie rose from her crouch, Amy waved a folded square of yellowed paper at her.

  “The age looks right,” Beckie said with a laugh, then recalled she hadn’t yet mentioned the underground tunnel or its safe.

  On the well-lit island in the kitchen, she watched as Amy carefully unfolded the ready to crumble paper. Beckie placed a glass coaster on it to hold it flat, then snapped a couple of photos. “20-55-70,” read the top line, followed by “50-35-90-15.”

  Amy copied the sets of numbers to a scrap of newer paper, then when they’d both finished, she folded the paper up and returned it to the clock.

  “Well,” Beckie said, “there are two safes.”

  “I only saw the one over the sofa. Where’s the other one?”

  “Under the yard. Want to save that one for Halloween? I’m sure no ghosts will be there!”

  Amy shrieked at the thought of being underground on Halloween, but then smacked Beckie’s arm before stomping into the living room.

  “What? You found the entrance to the tunnel. That big hatch in the basement.”

  Amy gave her another look before reaching to the knob on the wall safe.

  After fifteen minutes playing with the two combinations, Beckie read from her laptop. “Try the three-number one first. Six or seven spins to the right. Stop at the first number. Left three turns, then right two. On the last one back to the left till the dial stops. Says here that’ll be about eighty.”

  The hinges had been well oiled, but the container was empty. “Not even any dust,” Amy complained.

  “Com’on, let’s try the other one.” Beckie started toward the kitchen. “Want to go through the basement, or the shed?” She stopped. “No, have to use the basement. I locked the entrance at the shed from underneath.” She looked at Amy standing by the sofa. “Well, let’s go. Don’t you want to see what’s there?”

  “How far under the yard?”

  Beckie pursed her lips in thought. “It was twelve steps, but the rungs were lower than I expected. Maybe fifteen, sixteen feet. No water, then at least.” She came back and took Amy’s hand. “Doing it now has the advantage of leaving the daylight for looking above ground! Bring your light.”

  In ten minutes they were in the tunnel standing in front of an olive drab box with Diebold Safe and Lock Company of Canton, Ohio inscribed on the top of the door in gilt and black.

  “Wow,” Amy breathed.

  “Yeah. Okay, try your magic fingers. Use the four number combination, turning to the right.” She consulted the paper she’d carried with her. “This time, you’ll end going to the right till the dial stops.”

  The dial was stiff. Yeah. It’s been a couple years since Talos went to jail, so maybe no one else knew this was here. The fourth time, Amy yanked hard and fell, almost knocking Beckie’s legs out from under her as the door swung open. “Oof. Sorry.”

  Beckie was already kneeling, leaning over Amy’s legs to see into the container. “Well, well. Good job, Amy Rose. Gloves.”

  Amy held the light as Beckie p
icked up a black book.

  “Holy Bible,” she read aloud. “Guess maybe this is the one Emidio thought wasn’t here.”

  “Well, it isn’t in the house.”

  Beckie snorted as she carefully opened it. “Inscribed with the Talos family name. Take it and we’ll look it over later.”

  Amy pulled thin gloves over her hands and took the book.

  Beckie delved into the safe again. “Small box of jewelry, and a stack of cash. And…” Her voice trailed off in wonder.

  “What?”

  “Okay, that’s the lot.” She pushed the door to and turned, still squatting. She held a couple of video cassettes. “It’s almost time to call Ian.”

  The day of searching ended, they turned the front lights out and stayed upstairs in the former child’s bedroom they’d commandeered. Beckie stared at the cassettes while Amy leafed page by page through the Talos Bible. For whatever reason, the room held a king-size bed; it allowed plenty of room for them to sprawl.

  One at a time, Amy slipped three pieces of paper in front of Beckie. When Amy told her there were no more, she smiled as she reached for her phone, selected Ian’s number and called.

  After greetings that sent Amy, shaking her head, to the bathroom to don her nightclothes, Beckie laughed and said, “Whoever hid things for Donato thinks the same way Amy does.” She grinned at Amy, who was now pulling the covers up. “She started with the grandfather clock in the dining room… I sent you the photo… and behind the mechanism, they’d hidden a slip of paper with the combinations for the two safes. The safe in the living room was empty, and I don’t think there’ll be anything else in the house. Well, nothing interesting, anyway.”

  “You have saved the best for last, then?”

  “Yeah.” She laughed. “Amy wasn’t real excited about the tunnel, but the safe was something! It took a couple of tries after we read about how those safes worked, but inside, we found the Talos family Bible and what I think are the videos Mamani is looking for. A couple small cassettes. Should I send them to Shen, or direct to you guys?”

  “To Shen. Include a note that he should ask Else to copy them, then contact me. Good work! What about the Bible?”

  “Amy’s gone through it. I can guess why Emidio wants it. A birth certificate, an adoption certificate and a deed to property in Chautauqua County. I don’t think we have any interest in anything there, so I was going to hand it all to Emidio.”

  “I agree, certainly if those are the only things within.”

  “Also, in the safe there’s a little bit of jewelry and some cash. We left those there for now since no one’s mentioned them. I’ll tell Emidio, but not now.”

  “Again, I agree.”

  “Okay. I’ll drop the stuff at FedEx tomorrow morning before we come back and finish.” She thought for a moment. “I’ll see if they’ll accept Saturday delivery.”

  “Do not bother. It will require three days to get to Nassau, to the drop. Shen will have to pick it up.”

  “Yeah. That’d be a waste of money.”

  “I am relieved you believe so.”

  She laughed. “Okay, I’d spend another hour saying goodbye, but Amy’s pillow’s already shredded where she’s holding it over her head.”

  Amy roused and slung the pillow at Beckie’s head.

  “And now she’s attacking me with it. Gotta go, love, gonna teach the hellion a lesson!”

  The next day, Beckie extended the trip to FedEx by fifteen minutes to hand Emidio the Bible. While he still shied away from Amy—Beckie was certain he believed Amy and her knives responsible for the massacre earlier—he allowed Beckie to catch his arm and support him as he took the leather-bound book and opened it. His eyes were shining as he thanked her and shook her hand.

  While the girls sliced open the other furniture, marking it for disposal of one sort or other, as Beckie had predicted, nothing rewarded the search. They packed for the drive south. Once away from Brewster, their trip to Orlando was long and unexciting; Beckie drew it out to three days, with stops in North Carolina and then Georgia. As Beckie walked into the Savannah Riverfront Marriott, she wished she’d just kept going. Except their reservation at the Contemporary Resort was for tomorrow. The next morning, she was even more sure; all the nightlife she’d found was twenty-one and up!

  Amy had done her work and the Land of the Mouse was great fun. They’d arrived at the Resort early enough to have dinner at the Coral Reef in Epcot. Beckie knew it’d be a success as soon as the cute waiter served the souvenir Ariel cup of lemonade. Amy’s “Squeee!” settled it.

  The next day, Thursday, was Magic Kingdom; Friday they started at Animal Kingdom and ended at Epcot once more. Saturday, they drove to Coral Gables, arriving before two in the afternoon. Traffic was heavy; the Hurricanes were at home, but Beckie avoided the worst of it.

  She and Amy had a few minutes to relax before Sandy, Marla and Greg bounded through the door to greet them. Primed by Beckie, Amy professed eternal gratitude for Greg’s help in getting her out of the Keys; he blushed and avoided telling her what she’d looked like the last time he’d seen her—as Dan and Kevin carried her aboard the plane for the trip to the Nest.

  Beckie laughed at Greg’s reticence, but pushed Amy toward him. “You can see she’s alive.”

  “Yeah—”

  “And a lot of that is due to you. Don’t forget that!”

  He smiled, but his twinge of embarrassment was apparent. Amy, however, took charge, stepping to him, enveloping him in a hug that used all of her body to express. “Thanks,” she whispered just loud enough for Beckie to hear. “I’ll be doing my best to live up to your… your willingness to help me.”

  “Well…” He stopped to give Beckie a look like please help me.

  She patted Amy’s shoulder. “I think he understands, Amy.”

  The other girls joined Beckie in a group hug, surrounding Greg in a way he didn’t expect, and didn’t know how to accept. After a moment, Beckie made the first move away, followed by Sandy. Amy was next, leaving Marla enfolding him.

  “Whoa,” Sandy said. “I didn’t think it’d be that intense.” She went to sit on the sofa. “Thanks.”

  Beckie shrugged, then took Amy by the arm and drew her to sit on the love seat across from Sandy while Marla and Greg disengaged and sat beside Sandy.

  “You know,” Greg said, “I didn’t do anything special. But I’m glad you’re doing so well—”

  “Better than I was, but Beckie could tell you, not as good as I should be.” Amy rubbed her wrists. “But knowing people like you… you! are willing to risk, like, everything…” She glanced at Marla. “… you’ve got to help me… Well, it makes up for what happened, some, anyway.” She slid far enough from Beckie that she could face her. “That goes for you, too, Mom.”

  Beckie laughed and chucked the girl on her upper arm. “Okay! That’s enough of the mutual admiration.” She saw Greg’s head move in agreement.

  “Well, okay. It’s just…”

  Beckie took Amy’s hand while she addressed Sandy. “What do you have to drink? Anything left?”

  The next hour they filled with arranging the trip to the Nest and damaging the soft drink supplies. Derisive laughter met the news of Beckie’s status change at school, especially when they realized why she’d been absent.

  A call to the air taxi arranged for the flight from Fort Lauderdale to the Nest in the morning; a trip to a local underage saloon to celebrate the Hurricane’s win with other students followed. At midnight, Beckie wrassled them all back home for some rest before the raucous alarm sounded to start the next day.

  With Shen, Shalin met them at the Nest. After a quick stop to assure them both all was well, Beckie led Amy home to be welcomed by Boynton, who confirmed Ian would arrive before Thanksgiving. With fresh coffee, Beckie set up on the lanai and Skyped Millie, giving her the welcome news Amy was home, substantially unbroken. After a sip of her coffee, Amy agreed. “For now, Mom, I’m sure glad to be home. We had some, intere
sting experiences. Mostly good!” she hurried to add. “But I learned a couple of things, too. We’ll talk about it once… once I understand it all, okay?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Piero: Candidate, Father

  “I APOLOGIZE FOR MY TARDINESS,” Piero Salvadore told the group. “My daughter’s soccer game ran late.”

  “We understand,” Emil said. “Your attention to your family has always impressed me, and I’m sure the others. It will be a major benefit in the campaign.”

  Piero laughed. “I’m not sure Carmen will be so happy about that! But Sara can entice her if not. Now, it’s the second week of noviembre. How are we doing?”

  He looked around as the others gathered notes or placed their phones aside. Fernando, his personal assistant, was there as usual. Emil Gonzales, who, as campaign manager, was responsible for their actions. The financial wizard and the attorney would be quiet; their presence would ensure the campaign made no costly errors.

  From behind the others, Fernando gave him an agreeable smile. In his hand, a glass of pisco sparkled in the light. “Thank you. Place the bottle on the table, if you will.” Once he had his glass, he sipped. “Ah. Excellent! Thank you. Now.” He set the glass down. “Emil, an accounting, please.”

  “Accounting, Piero? I don’t—”

  “A review, then. Where do we stand?” He noticed a hand motion from Fernando. What does he want now? Ah. He surely means calm down. Yes, I was too sharp. “Sorry, Emil. I’m a little nervous. Please.”

  The expression on Emil’s face went from devastated to ingratiating in the space of Piero’s seven words. “The polling, early though it is, isolates the race between you and Mamani. Your record as Minister balances hers in the Congress. Both of us have solid financial reserves, though yours are arguably larger. So far, our followers are greater in number than hers, but we have seen increases for her, especially in the southern districts.”

  The group spent the next three hours discussing Piero’s concern: the campaign workers who would bring success to one or the other of them. As they wrapped up—as best we can now, Piero thought—he asked, “Can we be certain we have a two candidate race?”